


Something Beautiful

by susiephalange



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Female Reader, Grief/Mourning, It's Hard and Nobody Understands, Metaphysics, Questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 15:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11557758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: Reader is left alone with Peter on board the ship while she does maintenance to the mechanical systems, and babysits. She's no good at childcare, in the first place, but when Peter asks a question with no easy answer, her skills might be at the end of their tether.





	Something Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request from a user on Wattpad, who wanted a Kraglin fic set in the film.

System repairs are hardly your favourite thing to do; you could probably name eight (wait, no, nine) things that you’d rather do than system repairs, but since you’re the one with the qualifications on board with the Ravagers, and are known as the mechanic, it’s kind of your job. And shirking your job wasn’t an option. So, while the crew are off gallivanting, pillaging, (having fun), doing Ravager things, you’re stuck in the belly of the beast, fine-tuning the little things that made the ship go.

Another thing you didn’t like that much, was babysitting.

Before your life as a space pirate, you had been reputable, with an honest background. Daughter of a farmhand, you had gone to school all on your own dime, learned all you could about machinery and all about cybernetics and robotics. And you would have graduated if it hadn’t been for a zealot who eliminated your planet. Luckily, with your knowledge of machinery you got off-world in time in a dinky spaceship. But penniless, and practically riding a tattered shuttle into the stars, you had no prospects or wealth. If it weren’t for Yondu Udonta, you would have starved to death.

But babysitting? That was the finishing touch to your spectacular situation.  

While everyone was off wandering off to have fun, you were left to care for Peter. He wasn’t as young as you remember he was, when you first were taken in; he’d been shorter, shyer. Now, he listens to the songs on his musical device, and ignores everyone. He’s great company for you and your concentration, doesn’t ask questions when you’re focusing on installations, hands you the right tool when you ask. But usually, there was someone with you when the pair of you hung out, and with Kraglin off with the Captain to find a good dealer for fuel, you were alone with the child. Not that he wasn’t a good kid; you weren’t that skilled at child caring.

Just as you were securing in a new ray gun to the ship’s blaster system, Peter took his earphones out, and asked you a question. Usually, you knew what to say; sometimes it was questions about the mechanics of the toilets, or if you’d fix his tape. But this time, you were floored.

“Where do people go where they die?”

Luckily, you’d installed the mechanical hardware, and had nothing in your hands to drop. But still, your mouth opened, and no words came out, and Peter was looking to you, expectant. You clear your throat, confused by his question, wondering where it had come from. _People go into the ground, or scattered across places_ , you thought, but paused. The kid probably already knew that. _The metaphysical, then_.

“Uh, you want the pretty answer, or the other one?” You ask Peter. Using a rag, you wiped your hands, and moved toward where he sat on the low bearing work bench. Taking a seat beside him, you add, “You can ask for both.”

The young boy shrugged. “I was just wonderin’.”

You nod. “Yeah. Me too.” You look to your hands, and then back to Peter. “Did you know I’m the last person who was born on my planet alive? I came from a Xandarian outpost.” You smile, and tell him. “Sometimes I wonder where my sisters and brothers are.”

He’s quiet. Then, “My Ma died. Before I came here with you guys.”

Again, you nod, silent. That would explain why the young boy was so pensive some days, like a wizened elder full of knowledge when he came onto the scene as a gangly eight-year-old. You chew your lip, and ruminating, sit between your thoughts and Peter and your toolbox.

“Granpa used to say that when people passed away, they went away with God to Heaven in the sky.” He adds, and frowning, tells you, “But we’re in the sky, and I can’t seem to find Heaven no matter where I look.”

You swallow, wondering how to give him the answer. Every civilisation, every alien species in the galaxy has a different complex of religion, a different compilation of ideas of how after-death rituals played out, scenarios of where the spirit of the person went off. The Terran boy came from a planet you had no idea about the ceremonies of, and even with your background in mechanics, your people skills were no match for this sudden question.

“So, the pretty answer?” you repeat.

Peter nods, then shakes his head. “Both.”

Turning, you look out to the atmosphere and the open space beyond the Ravager ship, and so does Peter. For a moment, the pair of you are looking at the nearby planets, the colourful constellations in silence. Then you clear your throat. “I like to think that when people you love die, they become the stars in the sky,” you confide to him. “Sort of like how everyone saves the pieces of broken things so I can make them into other things.”

Peter nods along with your words, “You’re saying that they’re…recycled?”

You shake your head. “No! Maybe? You’re made of the same stuff as the stardust, too, though. It’s just you go back into something beautiful. But that’s not the nice answer; you wanted both, didn’t you?”

The young Terran bobs his head. “Yeah, um, please.”

You smile, and ruffle his hair. “People are never dead if you remember them. They’re always in your mind, you know, if you remember them like they really were. Sort of like that photograph you have, of that man.” You grin, and take a deep breath, “it’s how I keep my family close to me.”

“That’s cool…thanks.”

There’s a noise on the above decks, and at that, Peter scoots off the work bench and dashes up the stairs to the main deck. You scratch the back of your neck, and grin. You mightn’t be that skilled at child caring, but you were still caring. And that’s what was important.

Later, (well after take-off, and dinner) in the bunks, Kraglin joins you on your bed. There’s new ink on his neck, and as usual, his scruffy facial hair catches the light of the lamps, and your eye. The bed dips under his added weight, and quietly, he glances to where Peter sleeps in the bed beside yours, and you.

“I heard you an’ Pete had a chat today,” he whispers, moving to take off his jacket for bed. “I wasn’t sure if he was ever gon’ talk about it.”

You grin, and pecking your boyfriend, and bunkbed mate’s cheek, you tell him, “I hoped I did right by the kid. Seemed pretty okay with what I told him.” You reach to take off your socks, and notice the grease still on your arms from your mechanics work, and using an old t-shirt from below the bed, wipe off your arms. “You’re like a brother to the boy, Krag. It’s nice.”

He swats at your arm playfully, but before he can do any damage, a yawn escapes his mouth. “Yeah, yeah,” he whispers, but in good nature. “Come on, shift over. I wanna go to sleep.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, no cuddles?” You faux-complain, and hop into the bed you share with him. It took almost no convincing Yondu that you were to share a bed with his First Mate (because the blue-skinned captain had just nodded, and said _love’s love_ or something like that), and none of the other Ravagers had any qualms about it. Neither Peter; he’d just accepted that you guys were a thing. “I love my Kraglin cuddles.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Yeah, we can cuddle,” he smiled. “I love you, _______. You’re the best.”

Flicking the switch beside the bed to dim the lights, you felt Kraglin move an arm behind you to hold you close to him, so your head rested upon his shoulder, close enough to be enveloped in his scent. “I love you too, Krag…and you’re the best.”

System repairs are hardly your favourite thing to do; you could probably name eight (wait, no, nine) things that you’d rather do than repairs. But still. Repairs needed to happen. Questions needed to be asked. That’s why they’re called repairs/questions; they live to be done. But if it weren’t for you to be the big sister for Quill when he needed it, you’re not sure how he might’ve turned out to be (with just Kraglin and Yondu and the other Ravagers).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_______’s List of Hardly Favourite Things to Rather Do in The Case of System Repairs_

  1. Talk to loads of people in public
  2. Clean the trash compactor unit after the contents were removed
  3. Work out how strange tech Yondu picked up works
  4. Kiss Kraglin when he’s all smelly after a mission (“You need to shower!” “Never!”)
  5. Think about things more uncomfortable than cacti pyjamas
  6. Tease Kraglin about his cute mohawk
  7. Be forced to _not_ dance to that music Peter has, with Peter



AND

  1. Be around your space family who you love so much



**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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